they left two large holes
deep and dark
like a well in the forest
and i started to drown
at first
and lost myself and
who i was
the parts of me that were them
until i saw the flowers
and filled the holes
with shells from the ocean
that sparkled
i know we all
fall into it,
believing our things
will somehow change
how we feel about
ourselves.
that we’ll magically
be happier,
better put together,
complete.
but it’s never
the answer.
that vast expanse
inside,
that dark void
will linger.
the emptiness
shall never be filled.
not until you look
at it, i mean
really look at it.
stare into it.
face it like a foe
or a friend.
a demon that
can only be
vanquished
or conquered
by being fully
accepted and
acknowledged
and risen
above.
they told us to just
“go back”
like it was nothing
and everything was going
to be fine.
and it would all be
“normal.”
“let’s just get back,
y’know,
to the way things were.”
and what way is that,
exactly?
run into the ground.
weak.
exhausted.
completely burnt out.
although,
i did try
at first,
to simulate
a life vaguely resembling
the one I remembered.
gathering those
old threads
to weave
into something
new.
but the result was patchy
and threadbare.
what was once deemed
beautiful, now ugly.
something else was
mixed and woven
into my skin.
and the more i
resisted, the more it
pulled and tugged and
bled, as i refused to
accept the foreigner
that was squatting inside
me like a toad.
dark days realised.
but i needed
leverage to reach
the blue dome above.
and to land on jagged
rocks at the bottom is often
the only escape.
you can always look up
when you’re down
and witness the vast
expanse of
studded stars.
i walk towards broken palaces
like ivory towers
in the distance, castles covering the falling stars
that cascade onto crumbling sand dunes.
my heart it shatters like glass
but that doesn’t stop me from
running so fast towards you –
away from you
and into the dark forest where it is always
night but no moonlight
shines, only the illumination of
my soul that throws a glow
of enchanted curiosity.
what was it that led me here?
what was the spark that ignited
the fires? as the clouds gathered
overhead and turned silver
like swans.
what electricity travels through me
and who is even writing now?
if i stop the magic stops;
like water not flowing, rivers not running
and i know i’ll never stand still,
like a shark constantly swimming
to avoid dying,
and all the king’s horses,
and all the kings men,
could never put me back
together again.
and when it rains i cry
and it cries when i reign.
but i am no queen, like a pauper
i am
begging outside these stone walls that we built
pleading for your time
and your mercy.
what bird is this
that comes to me
so late at night
and speaks sweetly
bringing word
of places unknown
with tales of forests
overgrown
of running rivers
never dry
of star filled nights
that shine and thrive
it whispers to me
where i reside
a dank, dark well
amidst the tides
for i know no sunrise
or blue moon that shines
my world is darkness
and endless night
consider the letter “F”
consider the letter “F”
i have always perceived the letter “F”
to be the most comical letter in the alphabet.
i associate it with being
the beginning of some of the funnier words
from the english dictionary.
fart. farcical. funny. funk. fuck.
but then i remember some of those words
made to be written in lights.
fantastic. fabulous. fortunate. famous.
then there are less funny words
like fake and futile.
and the emotional words like
found. forgiven. forgotten.
but on the other hand
fork is a funny word.
but to fork something is quite a violent act.
perhaps i have been wrong for all these years
about the letter “F”.
it’s a dark horse.
a sad clown.
it presents itself one way
whilst hiding so much beneath the surface.
if the letter “F” were a vegetable
it would be an onion.
not because of the layers,
that would be a cliche.
i mean that i do not believe
an onion is really a vegetable,
it feels like so much more.
and so there it goes,
the level of thought provoking debate
prompted by the humble letter “F”.
the more that i think about it
the less that i find the letter funny.
suddenly, “F” appears pretty gangster;
so sharp and edgy,
a silent assassin.
an introvert.
it’s not showy and dramatic
like the letter “Z”
or vain like “V”
definitely not a narcissistic, psychotic, megalomaniac
like the letter “X”.
“F” is understated.
a charade
and master of disguise
with a sense of humour.
a fabulous, fantastically fake, fanatically flamboyant farce.
the humble “F”.
now F off.
a billion to one
we travel through billions of molecules everyday
that gather on either side of us,
and sometimes it is hard
to see the beauty through the endlessly mundane.
flowers floating in sewage water.
it’s about looking at the road
from a different perspective.
there is a reason that the path you chose
is less traveled.
it’s dirty and difficult and confusing.
anyone can be content,
even happy,
if you choose to seek adventure.
in every person there is a hero;
in every task there is a quest.
it’s a billion to one
that you’re even here.
what are the chances of your mother
meeting you father?
what were the odds
that they would fall in love?
we are all artists
waiting to paint.
like a brand new ink cartridge
you pushed me into your pen
and drew with me
such beautiful lines
and I caressed your pages
with mine.
you used me up,
but not completely,
my colour was never enough.
you wanted more
and yanked me out
without a glance
discarded me on the floor.
i walk across the bridge alone
in the cold moonlight
i see your face in every
passerby
and those that see me cry.
the innocent moon
that does nothing but shine.
i came back
angry and offended
and see the willow tree.
he was like the moon, cold and distant - but always within reach. she would watch him from the bottom of her well. she often heard laughter echoing through her chamber. the stone walls that encircled glistened with blue light; small comfort. she would sometimes sing; that unsettled him, shattering his illusions of a perfect world. the rope had been cut - long ago. she knew it had been him. the neglected forest, wild and overgrown, kept her a secret - never to be found.
THE LONELY WHITE WOLF 